“Why are you here and a prisoner?” I asked.
“I had business with Señor de Pintra. I came from afar to see him, but found the soldiers inhabiting his house. I am timid, señor, and suspecting trouble I hid in an out-building, where the soldiers discovered me. Why I should be arrested I do not know. I am not conspirator; I am not even Brazilian. I do not care for your politics whatever. They tell me Miguel de Pintra is dead. Is it true?”
His tone did not seem sincere. But I replied it was true that Dom Miguel was dead.
“Then I should be allowed to depart. But not so. They tell me the great Emperor is here, their Dom Pedro, and he will speak to me in the morning. Is it true?”
This time I detected an anxiety in his voice that told me he had not suspected the Emperor’s presence until his arrest.
But I answered that Dom Pedro was then occupying de Pintra’s mansion, together with many of his important ministers.
For a time he remained silent, probably considering the matter with care. But he was ill at ease, and shifted continually in his chair.
“You are Americano?” he asked at last.
“Yes,” said I.
“I knew, when you ask me for my English. But why does the Emperor arrest an American?”